


He Doesn't Even Like Mayday Parade!

by royalstanley



Series: Stenbrough kiss prompts [3]
Category: IT (2017)
Genre: M/M, Soulmate AU, bodyswap au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 03:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14299983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalstanley/pseuds/royalstanley
Summary: Based on the prompt "one small kiss, pulling away for an instant, then devouring each other."





	He Doesn't Even Like Mayday Parade!

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! i decided to set myself the task of completing all of the kissing prompts from a tumblr post, all in a different au. theres 20 in total, so they wont be too long, no more than 2k each, but i hope you all enjoy!
> 
> find me on tumblr: royalstanley

Stan was cautiously optimistic about how his life was going. He was in a stable relationship, working his way up the ladder to get the ideal job, and he’d finally gotten his own apartment.

One issue, however, was that he’d just turned twenty-one. And that would be fine if he was certain who his soulmate was - he knew who he was hoping for, but Stan had been a realist since he was able to think for himself. Unfortunately, there was still a seed of doubt concerning the fact that he would wake up in the body of his boyfriend, Richie Tozier, at any point after his birthday. Richie’s was a few months ago, but the bodyswap tended to occur when both people were twenty-one.

He’d spent his actual birthday with his parents at dinner - not like it mattered, because when he woke up the day of he was still in his own body. So he’d agreed to see Richie the day after, not anticipating anything spectacular to happen. He could switch bodies with his soulmate in ten years or ten days afterwards, it was that random, so chances were slim. 

“So you’ll be over tomorrow?” Richie’s tinny voice asked through the speaker.

“Mmmm,” Stan replied, phone to his cheek. His boyfriend tended to stay up hours after him - he was already in bed and asleep for at least three hours when Richie finally collapsed onto his mattress. As he spoke, his eyes were slipping shut. It was midnight, and Stan usually got up in around six hours time. 

“‘Kay.” 

Stan could just about hear the presence of someone else beside Richie; exclamations of “fuck!” and “that’s ch-cheating!” made him wince and pull away from the phone.

“Are you playing mario kart?” He asked exasperatedly.

“Yeah, with Bill-  _ blue shell _ , really?!” Richie yelled. “Sorry, babe, I have to go, he’s kicking my ass. See you tomorrow.” 

“Okay. Night, I lo-”

“Night!” Before Stan could get out his sentence, the call ended with three long beeps. He decided not to dwell on it, instead placing his phone on his bedside cabinet and turning on his side, letting sleep overtake him.

 

_ Ten hours later _

 

Stan was getting the overwhelming feeling that he wasn’t in his own bed. First of all, his sheets didn’t have  _ cowboys  _ on them. Second of all, he wasn’t tall enough for his feet to practically be touching the foot of the bed. He lifted his head from the pillow and peeped out from under the duvet - also noting the fact that he never left his door open at night. From what he could see of the rest of the apartment, it was awfully familiar. There was an expensive set up in the corner that consisted of a record player and at least twenty records in a stack, as well as an electric drum kit. 

He only knew one person who played the drums and had a rather obscure taste in music, including death-metal reggae.

Richie.

Stan didn’t bother to hide his smile, practically leaping out of bed to root around for Richie’s car keys and make his way to his own apartment. He was only in boxers at this point, typically, so walked over to the wardrobe to find something to wear (hung up and washed, hopefully). He didn’t think anything of taking a quick look at himself - Richie - only expecting to see a flash of dark hair and a smattering of freckles in the mirror stuck to the wardrobe. 

Which was why Stan was so shocked when he was faced with bright blue eyes and red-brown hair. Someone just as tall as Richie, but broader. Prominent abs rather than a pale, slim stomach. 

His roommate, Bill.

“Wh-Wh-Wh-” Stan struggled to spit out his words, his tongue in knots momentarily. “What the  _ fuck?! _ ” 

The voice was a lot deeper in comparison to his own, and Stan couldn’t help but lean closer into the mirror. He pressed both hands to his face (for the day, anyway), pinching pale cheeks and running his thumbs over the freckles lightly dusted across his nose. After a few minutes of scrutinising every part of Bill’s face - but not his body, they  _ certainly  _ weren’t there yet - he took a step back and sat back on the bed, seeing his own frown on someone else’s face.

It wasn’t so much that he was disappointed, no, he was confused. Bill  _ hated  _ Stan, and had ever since they met.

Stan and Richie began dating around two years ago, and after a month or so Richie invited him back to his apartment, giving him the address over text - unhelpfully, he wasn’t actually there when Stan arrived. That meant Bill had to let him in after he exasperatedly said he was “a friend of Richie’s.” 

Bill seemed awfully hospitable from the get-go, offering a charming smile and pouring him a cup of coffee, even clearing a space on the cluttered couch. They struck up a comfortable conversation, managing to while away an hour talking about Bill’s love for classic literature and Stan’s interest in birds. He found that Bill got closer and closer to him by the minute, inserting throwaway comments that could be seen as more than friendly. He also found that he didn’t object to any of it, laughing loudly at his stupid jokes and leaning in when Bill’s hand ‘accidentally’ brushed over his own. 

“So, when you said you were a friend of Richie’s-”

“I’ve arrived!” Richie sang, kicking the door open, hands occupied with pizza boxes. He placed both on the counter and bounded over to the couch, flopping down in between Stan and Bill. “Hey, sweetheart,” he continued, grabbing Stan’s face with both hands and kissing him strongly. “So, you two getting along?”

And with that, Bill’s face dropped completely, changing from the friendly one Stan knew a few minutes before.

“You could say th-that,” he responded coldly, getting up from the couch abruptly. “You two have fun.” The next thing Stan heard was a bedroom door being slammed, and Richie’s laugh close to his ear. 

“Jeez, what the fuck did you say to him?”

From then on Bill wasn’t Stan’s biggest fan. When Stan would stay over for the weekend, Bill would coincidentally be going on a family trip. If Stan came over for dinner, Bill would take his to his room and lock himself away, only coming out to put his dishes in the sink. Stan figured that Bill thought he was a shitty person - flirting with him while he was dating his best friend. But it wasn’t like they were official at the time, and Bill never told Richie about what happened when they first met.

No matter how much Bill showed his disdain, Stan kept trying. He’d bring three coffees to the apartment instead of two, and the same applied to his cooking when he stayed in the evening. 

But the final straw, when Stan decided to give up, happened around six months ago. He’d stepped out of the shower and blindly grabbed for a shirt on the pile of clean clothes, assuming it was Richie’s. He tugged on some boxers as well as the shirt and came out of the bathroom while drying off his hair, trying to tiptoe around the apartment, considering Bill was in and Richie was working. 

“What are you doing?” Said a voice from behind him, as brittle as usual.

Stan turned around, blinking owlishly. “What?”

Bill’s eyes surveyed his body briefly, settling on his chest. “You’re wearing my sh-shh-shirt.” 

“Oh!” He plucked at the thin black material and frowned at the pattern. “Sorry. I thought it was Richie’s.”   
“Well, it’s not. He doesn’t even like Mayday Parade. What, do you not know your own boyfriend?” Bill snapped, face flushed.

Stan could only bite his tongue for so long. “Well, fine! If this is such a big fucking deal to you, I’ll take it off!” Despite his body issues, his anger drove him to pull at the hem to take off Bill’s shirt, raising his arms in preparation.

“No!” Bill almost yelled. “No,” he said, quieter. “Just wash it and give it to m-m-me when you’re done.” 

When he did so, Bill took it from him wordlessly and shut the door in his face.

Stan couldn’t recall the next time they spoke to each other.

Bringing himself back to the present, he realised he couldn’t let Richie know that they weren’t soulmates just yet, considering how often he told Stan how excited he was for him to turn twenty-one. So he would have to pretend to be Bill, and hopefully get the  _ actual  _ Bill to play along until the day was over. Which reminded him that ‘Stan’ was supposed to come over at 11am, and also that he had no idea how Bill actually acted, considering he spent so much of his time avoiding him. 

The first step was clothes - Stan picked out a flannel shirt and some simple black jeans (he evaded the jorts, not being able to comprehend that his soulmate actually wore those). He buttoned the shirt up as high as he could without it being suspicious, then hesitantly stepped out of the room. Stan also grabbed Bill’s phone, noticing that it thankfully had a thumbprint recognition rather than a password. He typed in his number quickly, and sent a text to his own phone:

 

_ Come over in half an hour. Don’t tell Richie. - Stan. _

 

_ Oh, and dress nice. - Stan. _

 

Like always, Richie’s apartment was a mess. He and Bill had obviously ordered takeaway last night, and boxes were strewn across the coffee table. The controllers from their mario kart competition were on the floor, abandoned, and Stan could just about make out the tv remote underneath the sofa. Without bothering to survey his surroundings, on impulse he picked up the mess, straightening the crooked table and fluffing the pillows.

“Dude.” 

Stan’s head shot up at Richie’s words. He was on the kitchen counter chugging a carton of orange juice while interchangeably shoving handfuls of cheerios in his mouth. “You’re  _ cleaning _ ?”  

He immediately dropped the can of pop he was holding, thankfully empty. “Uh. Yeah?” 

Richie snorted and waved his hand in the air. “Don’t bother. Stan’s coming over in half an hour, and if I ignore his nagging he’ll just do it for us. It’s chill.” He shrugged.

Stan’s thoughts turned to white noise in that moment. He forgot about the fact that he was in another person's body, that the man who just said that wasn’t his soulmate.

All he knew was that it was Richie.

And it  _ hurt. _

“Yeah. Right,” he laughed falsely, turning away so Richie wouldn’t see the devastation on his face.

“Oh, and are you joining the fuckin’ priesthood or some shit? What’s with the shirt?” He gestured to the fact that Stan had only left one button open, and had tucked the hem into his jeans.

Stan reluctantly undid another button, and took the shirt out of the waistband of his jeans. “Was just cold, I guess.” He felt a buzz from Bill’s phone against his thigh, and unlocked it to find a message.

 

_ k. - William. _

 

His nose wrinkled in disgust. Was Bill  _ mocking  _ him? 

“Drink?” Richie offered, holding out the carton.

“Sure,” he replied, walking towards him, eyes still on the screen. He went into the cupboard to retrieve a glass, and was met with disbelieving eyes.

“Scared I’ve got cooties all of a sudden?” 

“ _ No _ ,” Stan said defensively - he snatched the carton from Richie’s hands in one swift movement and wrapped his lips around the nozzle. The one thing he constantly nagged Richie about, putting his drink in a damn  _ glass _ , and he wasn’t doing it himself. It seemed like a test; his boyfriend’s eyes on him the whole time. Was he that obvious?

Stan wiped his mouth and placed the carton on the counter. “So, Stan’s coming?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you’ll wanna skedaddle as soon as possible, but I need you to do something for me first.” 

Richie jumped off the counter and into his room, moving around in there for a while before coming out with something Stan couldn’t determine. “Wrap this for me?” He threw it across the living room as far as possible, Stan barely catching it. 

“What is it?” He asked, turning it over in his hands.

“It’s Stan’s present, duh.”

“Oh!” Stan said, cheeks dusted pink. For some strange reason he thought Richie would have forgotten, but he felt like an asshole now.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have been able to think of anything if you hadn’t suggested that. And went out and bought it for me.” Richie chuckled, running his hands through his bedhead. 

And there was another punch to the gut.

“Right.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “No problem, bro.” 

Richie shot finger guns at him and made his way to the bathroom, skidding on his socks as he went. Something Stan once found endearing.

He sat down on the sofa, body and heart feeling heavy. Once he’d cleared the mist of tears from his eyes, his blurry vision focused on the present - his present. 

A leather satchel, soft and supple under his hands.

It was such a simple item, but you had to  _ know  _ Stan to buy it. For the past month he’d been complaining about the state of his current one. The strap had gotten so frayed it snapped, so he was forced to hold it by the handle, which left him with one free hand instead of two.

“It just isn’t efficient anymore,” he’d complain to Richie, looking down forlornly at the broken bag.

“So?” Richie would shrug. “Get a new one.” 

“I haven’t got the  _ time _ , I need this for all my classes.” Stan continued. “Besides, it’s too much of a luxury.”

Then Richie would just hold up his hands as if to say,  _ well what the fuck do you want me to do about it?,  _ and the topic would be abandoned. 

Thinking about it, they’d almost always only argued about that alone. Except for the one time it occured while Bill emerged from his room to get a drink, which gave him just enough time to overhear it.

Stan held the satchel close to his chest for a second with a soft smile, noting that it was almost identical to his current one. He went to seek out some wrapping paper, finding only a small sheet of it reading  _ it’s a boy!  _ tucked away in a drawer. The shower started running as soon as he sat down with a pair of blunt scissors and some children’s tape with stars on it. 

Stan couldn’t believe he was wrapping his own present from his boyfriend that his boyfriend didn’t even  _ buy. _ His boyfriend that wasn’t even his soulmate. 

Life seemed a lot more simple before it struck midnight eleven hours ago.

As he placed the last length of tape on the paper and put it on the table, there was a sharp knock on the door. Bill was playing his part well, as he was right on time. 

Stan checked Richie was still showering and walked over, opening it to himself: something he was prepared for, but it didn’t make it any less weird.

Of all the things he could have said to his soulmate, “What the  _ fuck  _ are you wearing?” was not at the top of his list. 

Bill had decided to put on a pair of khakis - sensible, Stan wore them a lot - and a white shirt. Also fine. However, he paired them with some rainbow suspenders his friend Mike bought for him as a joke three years ago, and his  _ boy scout neckerchief.  _

“You’ve got to be kidding, right?” He asked in disbelief.

His own face offered a sheepish look and he  shrugged. “S-S-Sorry?” 

Stan rolled his eyes and dragged Bill in by his shoulders (wow, he was small in comparison), then began to adjust the clothing.

“Buttoned up, all the way,” Stan said firmly, pointedly not looking Bill in the eyes and fixing his collar. “ _ No  _ suspenders, not since I was thirteen.” He snapped them against his own chest, eliciting an “Ow!” from Bill, then unclipped them.

“And my neckerchief, really? How long were you rooting in my drawers for?” Stan could feel Bill swallow underneath his hands while he unknotted the neckerchief and tucked it into his back pocket, alongside the suspenders.

“Just wanted to huh-have a little fun,” Bill said defensively. 

“Right, well. This isn’t fun. This is serious. I’m dating your roommate! And have been for two years! This is a pretty fucking big shock for us all.” He felt his face get hot, and his breaths come quicker. “Bill, listen to me,” he pleaded. “Go along with this. Just for today. We’ll figure everything else out tomorrow.”

Against his own will he’d fisted a hand in his shirt, the material scratchy and his skin sweaty. “ _ Please. _ ”

He looked down instead of up for once, and there was a gentle expression on his own face - at least, his version of gentle.

“Of course.” Bill replied.

Stan exhaled with relief and let go of the shirt. “Thankyou. Not just for that. For the gift.”

Bill furrowed his brows. “What gift?”

“The satchel. It was really thoughtful.”

His eyes widened and he shook his head quickly. “Richie got that for you, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” Stan soothed, “he told me. Well, he told  _ you. _ ” 

“Idiot.” He whispered under his breath, and they both laughed good-naturedly. It was the first time they’d done that since they met. 

The shower stopped running a moment after, and both of them turned to one another in panic.

“Okay, um,” Stan said, being unable to focus on anything in particular, “you don’t have to stay for long. Just act as natural as possible, open  _ your  _ gift, then make something up. Say you have to go to the market with my mom. We do that-”

“Every other w-weekend, I know.” Bill smiled. 

“Should I be worried about just how much you know about me?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not anymore,  _ soulmate _ .” He shot back without malice.

Stan bit his lip and echoed the word, rolling it around in his mouth, tasting it on his tongue. It wasn’t as scary as he thought.

“Right.”

It was then that Richie came out of the bathroom, towel hanging low on his hips. “Babe!” He grinned, walking over to Stan’s body without hesitation and smacking him on the ass. 

Stan really hoped he didn’t look that disgusted every time Richie did that, otherwise they’d been having problems for longer than he thought. 

Bill didn’t respond before his lips were captured in a kiss - he had to bite his fist in order to stop laughing behind them, the scene was so comical. 

“I just gotta dry off and I’ll be right out, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay,” Bill replied, bewildered, both of them watching Richie disappear into his room. Stan burst into fits of giggles when the door shut with a  _ click _ .

“He’s a  _ terrible  _ kisser,” Bill said, mouth gaping. “You put up with that for two years?” 

“Shut up!” Stan hissed. “He’s perfectly fine. Oh, and by the way, you better not have  _ looked _ while you got dressed this morning.” 

“Of c-c-course not!” Bill said, scandalised. “Who do you th-think I ah-ah-am?” 

He nodded, satisfied.

“Nice buh-birthmark on your left ass cheek, by the way.”

Stan let out an infuriated gasp and hit Bill on his right arm. “I can’t believe you actually looked!”

While rubbing the sore spot on his bicep, Bill smirked. “I didn’t. Good guess though, right?” 

Whether he was lying, Stan wasn’t sure. So he narrowed his eyes at him and made his way over to the sofa, trying not to sit as straight and proper as he usually did. He noticed Bill doing the complete opposite - he appreciated his dedication.

“He thrusts his fists against the p-p-p...He thrusts his fists against the post and st-st-stuh… _ Shit! _ ”

“What?” Stan whispered.

“Apparently my stutter came along with me to your buh-b-body. He’s gonna know sss-something’s up ih-if he hears it.” Bill whispered back. “It’s a stupid exercise I used to use a l-lot when it was really bad.”

“You don’t have to stay for long, I swear. Just open the present and go.” 

Bill nodded - while they were looking at each other he was pulled to his feet by Richie, who was halfway through singing a shitty rendition of ‘happy birthday’ and pressing sloppy kisses to his cheek. 

“I got you a present,” Richie said teasingly, spinning who he thought was Stan around the living room. “Bill?”

“Hm?” The real Bill responded. 

Richie gave the boy in his arms a questioning look, and went to open his mouth before Stan quickly reached for the present in front of him and placed it in his arms. “I moved it. Sorry.” 

The present was given to Bill in turn - he smiled awkwardly, and they all sat on the sofa together as he ripped the ten-year old wrapping paper off of an item two out of the three people in the room were already aware of. 

“Oh. A satchel. Thankyou.” Bill said, apparently a terrible actor. He turned the bag over in his hands like Stan did before he wrapped it.

“Yeah! Because...y’know...your other one was fuckin’...” Richie was trying to find the right words, since he obviously couldn’t remember them. It was painful for him to watch.

“Because the strap broke.” He supplied quietly. 

Richie gave Stan a thumbs up. “Exactly.” 

They all sat in silence for an excruciatingly long moment, Bill folding up the wrapping paper (a little quirk of Stan’s), Richie drumming his fingers against his thigh, and Stan tugging at the collar of Bill’s flannel shirt. 

“Not to address the elephant in the room, but…”

Bill and Stan looked at each other in panic.

“Why the fuck are you two in the same room together?” Richie asked, brow furrowed. 

Stan could’ve laughed with relief. “Well, I decided to stop being an asshole for once and stop hating your boyfriend for no reason.” He said cheerily. 

“Yeah, no, I think i-ih-” Bill coughed behind his hand, “I think it was me not being too pushy for Bill’s friendship that made him want to come out.” 

Stan glared at him behind Richie’s back, and he only offered a smug grin. Fuck, did he look that annoying when he was so pleased with himself?

“Right. Well-”

“I have to go!” Bill blurted. “I have to go to the market. With Andr- with my mom. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Stan checked the phone he’d put beside him, noting that he’d only been there for under half an hour. Although he felt guilty, he knew that the more time Stan and Bill spent with each other, the more the differences would become obvious. Bill was already slouching in his seat and trying to unbutton the top button of his shirt. “But I’ll come tomorrow? We can get pizza, or something. Hawaiian?”

“Okay, you’re obviously having a stroke.” Richie half-laughed. “Since when did you ever let me have pineapple on pizza? And ham? You’re  _ Jewish. _ ” He paused. “Right?”

“Yeah, he is,” Stan said, staring Bill down. “And he has to go.” 

Bill nodded and picked the satchel up along with Stan’s phone, handling both delicately. He started shuffling towards the door awkwardly - probably hoping that Richie wouldn’t kiss him. Luckily for him, he was staring at his phone rather than watching his boyfriend walk out. “Well I guess I’ll go see Eds, then,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “He needs someone to help him make flashcards for his next exam, or whatever.”

Stan thanked the stars for Eddie’s incessant need for a revision partner: he craved time alone to freak out. 

“Bye, Stan,” Stan called. Man, that was weird.

“Bye, Bill,” Bill said right back, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

Richie’s farewell was faint, as he was walking around the apartment searching for his shoes. 

On instinct, Stan found them for him, knowing exactly what he wanted - those beat up converse that he wouldn’t give up for anyone.

“Here.” He offered them by holding them by the laces, grimacing at the state of them.

Richie hopped from one foot to another as he pulled them on, his “thanks” muffled by his car keys in his teeth. The door had clicked shut after Bill, and they were alone again.

“I’ll be back whenever Eddie’s decided he’s done enough. So I’ll be back at like 2am, I guess.” Richie laughed - Stan did the same. “Hey, do you think Stan liked the gift? I couldn’t tell.” 

He looked at his boyfriend. Looked at the way his glasses slipped down his nose, and how they magnified his eyes - eyes that had nothing but sincerity behind them. Richie was a bit of an idiot sometimes, sure, and maybe he didn’t put Stan’s best interests first. But he did love him.

Just not enough to be his soulmate.

“I think he loved it.” 

Richie gave him a goofy smile, then settled on both feet. “Awesome. See ya!”

The apartment door shut for the second time, and Stan was alone with his thoughts. In another person’s body.

Said person’s phone buzzed against the coffee table.

 

_ feel free to look around my room. maybe u can get to know me a little :) _

 

_ Okay. You can’t look around mine. - Stan. _

 

_ too late ;) _

 

_ and u dont have to put a signature at the end of every text btw _

 

_ Noted. - Stan. _

 

_ Why do you think we’re soulmates? _

 

The other responses were instantaneous, but there was a pause before this one.

 

_ can we talk about this tmrw? _

 

_ Sure. _

 

_ come to the apartment whenever ur ready. we can tell richie together :) _

 

Right. Telling Richie. Because this wasn’t something that was just going to go away. It was life-altering, and it could affect his relationship with his boyfriend forever. Well, ‘could’ was a tenuous term for the situation. Some people ignored what fate had designed and stayed with their current partner - but from the way Stan was thinking, it seemed as if he’d already made up his mind. 

He sighed and put the phone back, deciding to take Bill up on his offer and look through some of his books to get an idea of who he was.

Apparently his type could be summarised in one word -  _ messy.  _ Bill’s shoes weren’t lined up, despite him having a rack, the majority of his clothes were piled up on a chair rather than being in the wardrobe, and the books mentioned were in a stack in the corner. The only thing that was neat was his bed - which Stan made that morning. He hesitantly sat on the edge of it and picked up the most worn sketchbook of the stack - most of the pages were dog-eared, and it was an off-green colour.  _ B.D.  _ was scribbled in the bottom corner. 

_ Denbrough,  _ Stan remembered. 

Not particularly caring about what he landed on, Stan opened to a random page. On it, he found sketches of a young boy. Probably early teens, with a bright smile, holding a daisy proudly in front of his face. There were faint additions of colour - straw blond hair, clear blue eyes. Stan took a mirror from Bill’s dresser and looked at his eyes, comparing them to the drawing. Pretty similar. He recalled Richie telling him a few months ago that Bill was going on a camping trip with his brother, who had a name beginning with G. His memory served him correctly; in the same handwriting that was on the front of the book, in the bottom right corner, was  _ Georgie.  _

Most of the pages in this book were filled with his brother doing various activities - surfing, baseball, bass guitar. It usually included a number beside it, indicating how old he was at the time. Stan noted that there wasn’t many sketches of his parents, and when there was (presumably), it was only fragments of their bodies.

He set it gently to the side and picked up the newest book, a deep red. Only half of the pages were filled, but the ones that were demonstrated a lot more skill than in the other book. The people, or person, on these pages were a lot harder to make out. It was only a smile, or a side profile, or hands. Next to each there was an  _ S,  _ as well as a date. Stan noticed that the profile was usually accompanied by a mop of curls, and the smile had a dimple in the left cheek. If eyes were included, they were a rich brown. 

His hands came up to touch cheeks that should be his. Cheeks that had a dimple in the left side if he laughed. Hands that should be his; hands that were slender and soft, juxtaposed to the calloused ones he had now. 

“Oh.” Stan mumbled.

Those books gave him everything he needed to know, and his head was swimming with that alone. So he neatened the pile and crawled to the top of the bed, hugging his knees close to his chest. Bill had lead him to believe, for two years, that he despised him. The majority of his brain was fucking pissed, but a small amount was relieved. At least he wouldn’t be spending the rest of his life with someone who could barely stand him. 

But that was something to be discussed with Bill tomorrow. Instead, he made himself lunch with the mediocre amount of proper food in the fridge, channel surfed, and sifted through some of Richie’s decent records. Admittedly, he even spent a lot of time in front of the mirror. When he got dressed earlier he did so blindly, especially when putting on a new pair of boxers, and the same applied when he got changed for bed. But now he found scars that he didn’t notice that morning - a long, faint one on his forearm, and a chicken pox scar on his forehead when he lifted up Bill’s hair. Speaking of hair, it was a stunning shade, and just as soft as it looked. Stan twirled it around his fingers in fascination and watched it flop back down without curling (unlike his own). 

Bill didn’t seem to own any actual pajamas - but what he did find was the shirt that caused such a fuss all those months ago. He pulled it on without thinking, and was curled up in bed by 10pm. 

Bill’s phone buzzed.

 

_ c u tmrw <3 - bill. _

 

With only two hours left in this guy’s body, Stan closed his eyes with a smile, leaving the screen illuminated with those words on display. 

 

_ Ten hours later _

 

Bill seemed to have helpfully set an alarm for him, and when Stan checked his phone it was titled  _ wake up!!!!! :).  _ He couldn’t help but smile again, unable to be angry about being woken up against his will. 

It felt good to be in his own body once more - he actually fit in his own bed, and his sheets were white, plain and simple. There was no point in delaying, so he got changed out of his mismatched pajamas (horrifyingly), and grabbed his keys.

 

_ On my way. _

 

_ :D! _

 

Three short, sharp knocks was all was needed for Bill to open the door, but Stan had a feeling he was waiting behind it anyway. 

“Hi,” Bill said, practically vibrating on the spot. He looked even better when Stan didn’t have to stare into a mirror to see him.

“Hey.” Stan peered around him to look into the apartment. “Richie up yet?” 

“No, b-b-but I heard him sss-st-stirring, so.” 

The air between them wasn’t exactly awkward, but Stan wouldn’t describe it as ideal, or the kind of atmosphere you should share with your soulmate. He hoped that Richie would be out soon so they could get it over with and finally start- well, he didn’t know. Bill had stepped aside so he could walk in, and they were hovering very close to the doorway of Richie’s room.

“I looked through your sketchbooks. The red one.” 

Bill winced and looked down at his shoes. “I’ll explain myself when this is oh-over.” 

Stan said nothing else, letting the silence envelop them again. That was when a door opened slowly, and a figure stumbled out - Richie, obviously, but he seemed to be carrying himself better. He didn’t even acknowledge Bill or Stan, instead running his tongue over his teeth and grimacing, walking to the bathroom.

They gave each other a questioning look, but figured that Richie may as well do whatever he wanted before he was hit with such a bombshell.

He remained in there for at least half an hour - he was in the shower, brushing his teeth, and when they listened close enough, he was flossing.

“Do we even own floss?” Bill wondered aloud. 

Richie looked remarkably better when he emerged, better than he had since they started dating, actually. His hair was combed, even gelled, and his glasses were  _ clean.  _ Although he was still in his pajamas, it was a vast improvement.

“...Richie?” Stan said cautiously.

A shaky laugh bubbled from his boyfriend’s lips. “Yep. That’s me. Richie Tozier. Your boyfriend.” Panic was alight in his eyes, and he seemed to be shrinking in on himself.

As if he wasn’t used to being that tall.

Stan was barely given the chance to speak again before Richie interrupted.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I can’t lie to you. It’s Eddie.” He babbled. “Stan, I swear, he never cheated on you. I never even thought of him as being more than a friend before this, I’m so fucking sorry-” 

He and Bill could barely disguise their smiles. “Eddie, it’s fine,” he said, trying to adopt a serious tone. “I just need you to get Richie’s phone so I can give him a call.” 

When Eddie’s back was turned, Bill reached out and grasped Stan’s hand, squeezing it just a little bit too eagerly. 

The weird soulmate mind-reading everyone spoke about must have been true, because Stan’s adamant “no” escaped his lips before anything could come out of Bill’s.

“Richie is still my boyfriend. You need to wait.” He said, staring straight ahead - he knew if he looked into those stupidly striking eyes, he’d give in to whatever Bill was asking of him. Bill made a noise of discontent, but loosened his grip.

The phone call with Richie was brief:

 

“I know it’s Eddie. Come back to your place.” 

“Stanley, my darling, I can’t tell you how sorry I am-”

“Just. Shut up for a second. Bill and I have something to tell you. Hurry up, okay?”

 

True to himself despite being in a smaller body, Richie entered with dramatic flair - on his knees in front of Stan with his hands clasped. All Stan could think of was how horrified Eddie was going to be when he saw the state of his hair and clothing properly. 

“From the bottom of my heart, Stan, I’m sorry-” Richie began.

“It’s fine, Rich, you don’t need to apologise-” 

“I know you’re probably devastated, heartbroken is an understatement, and you shouldn’t have to find out this way-” 

“Richie-”

“-but I guess this is what fate wants for us, and I cannot change that. I’m sure your guy is out there, and I know you’re jealous and bitter now, but it’ll get better.” He cleared his throat and got up, dusting off his knees. “What was it you and Bill wanted to tell me?” 

Stan and Bill shared a laugh that could only be described as stomach splitting, leaning on each other and wiping tears from their eyes. He could faintly hear Richie being genuinely confused, asking Eddie, “What’s so fuckin’ funny? I was being  _ sincere. _ ”

“Sorry, it’s just…” Stan giggled once more. “Did you not wonder why Bill was acting so weird yesterday? Why I wasn’t surprised by my gift?”

Richie stilled, bewildered. Eddie obviously figured it out immediately, but, like Stan and Bill, decided it would be funny for him to realise on his own. Finally, his eyes travelled down to their interlocked hands.

“Oh  _ shit! _ ” He yelled. “ _ No way!”  _ He bounded over to Bill and held up his hand.

“Seriously? You’ve been duh-dating Stan for two years and you w-w-want to high five me for basically taking him from you?”

Richie shrugged. “Why not?” 

Both guys looked over to their respective partners, who simply rolled their eyes and made a  _ go ahead  _ motion. 

Stan gestured to Richie trying to climb on Bill’s shoulders after their high five, nearly making them topple over in the process. “That one’s  _ yours. _ ” He said to Eddie.

“Yeah, and that one’s  _ yours _ .” Eddie tilted his head towards Bill, who was wearing Richie’s glasses and throwing him on the sofa.

To say Richie and Stan’s goodbye was awkward was an understatement. Bill and Eddie left them to it, excusing themselves to the kitchen and making some coffee.

“Stan the man-”

“Stop right there,” Stan laughed. “What you said before, even though you were being an idiot about it, you were right. We can’t change it.”   
Richie evaded eye contact, as he always did when he had to be serious, and nodded briskly. 

“You have a lot to talk about with Eddie, and I have to do the same with Bill. I’ll leave you to it, take Bill back to mine.” 

He nodded again, but this time he forced Stan into a hug - it was stiff, but he tried his best to savour it, squeezing his eyes shut and letting it last longer than usual. 

“Jesus,” Richie said, pulling away and wiping his eyes, “I can’t believe I was sucking your dick last week, and now  _ this. _ ”

Stan snorted and squeezed his shoulder, this time not letting the touch linger. 

He could see Bill and Eddie saying their goodbyes out of the corner of his eye, so took that as his cue to leave. “I gotta go.” 

 

* * *

 

Stan was at a loss of what to do when Bill was in his apartment. They barely knew each other - or, he barely knew Bill. Which was why the first question he asked was:   
“Why did you pretend to hate me? For two years?” He tried not to let the hurt seep into his voice. 

Bill toyed with the hem of his shirt to keep his shaking hands busy while he spoke. “Do you remember when we first met?”

“Yeah. We were getting along great, then as soon as Richie came in you just-  _ turned _ .” Stan said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “I didn’t do anything.” 

“It’s not about you doing anything. It’s mm-m-my fault. Before Richie came in, I wuh-was going to ah-a-ask you out. And even when I knew you were dating, I didn’t stop wanting that.”

“So, what, you decided to punish me because you couldn’t control your feelings?”

“I guess,” Bill grimaced. “I just felt guilty, b-buh-be...because Richie is my best friend. And I knew if you wanted me back, I’d fuck him over. How fucked uh-up is that?”

Stan gave him time to breathe - he knew he wasn’t finished.

“So I suppose it was a mm-mix of me hating myself and trying to keep y-y-you at arm’s length. Because we got along great, right?”

That, he couldn’t deny. With Richie they had to spend a few weeks feeling each other out; Richie had to realise when to stop with the jokes, Stan had to know when to stop micromanaging. Their relationship was perfectly crafted, but only because they were holding back their true selves. With Bill none of that applied. It was as if he knew him inside and out from a fifteen minute conversation.

“Yeah. Really great.” He admitted. 

“Exactly. It’s n-not like I thought you’d cheat on Richie or whatever, but.” Bill sighed. “A part of me kind of hoped you’d realise that we were a better fit.” 

“That’s fucked up, Bill.”

“I  _ know.  _ But it’s not like I was wrong. Couldn’t have buh-buh-been more correct, actually.” His grin was sheepish, but there. 

He rolled his eyes and found himself gravitating closer to Bill. His  _ soulmate.  _ “So, the whole thing with the shirt…?”

 

Bill’s cheeks were dusted pink immediately. “Completely lost it. It m-mm-made me think of...y’know…” He was biting down hard on his bottom lip, still awkward, but was also walking closer to Stan, leaving no more than an inch between them.

Hot puffs of air hit his own cheeks. The tense atmosphere they’d conjured beforehand dissipated, and it was replaced with a haze of intrigue. “What?”

“What it would be like...if you were…” 

“Yeah?”

Bill squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a chaste kiss to Stan’s lips, then pulled away. 

 

They were on each other in an instant - it was a kiss that didn’t only involve their mouths, but their entire bodies. If it was possible for them to become one not only in soul but physically, this action would be the starting point - Bill slipped his arms around Stan’s waist to keep him close, rubbing circles into the small sliver of skin that had been revealed by his shirt. Stan’s back was arched as Bill dipped him like a romantic cliche; in order to keep as stable as possible he grabbed tufts of the red brown hair that was his own only yesterday. It was still soft to the touch - everytime their tongues twisted around each other in the best possible way Stan would give it a tug, eliciting a pleased gasp and a tighter grip around his waist. Even when they were trying to catch their breaths they were touching, Bill’s nose squashed against his own stupidly, one of Stan’s hands now rubbing over his cheekbones, trying to count his freckles. Each kiss was lazier and more playful than the last as Bill tugged on Stan’s bottom lip with his teeth, Stan pressing a kiss to his nose in return.

 

“It made me think of that,” Bill breathed out finally, releasing Stan from his hold and resting their foreheads together. 

Then, Stan realised that the whole process of realising who your soulmate was was unnecessary. 

You only needed one kiss to know who you were going to spend the rest of your life with. 

 

_ 6 months later _

 

“I have a question,” Richie said, throwing a pizza crust into an empty box. “Who’s better in bed, me or Bill?”

The other three people in the room let out a collective groan. “Really?” Eddie asked exasperatedly. “Do you really need to know?”

“Yes!” Bill and Richie said at the same time.

Stan curved closer to Bill and sighed. “Just because you asked? Bill.” 

While Richie lamented his loss, Bill yelled over the din. “Wait, wait, wait! So if he didn’t ask you wouldn’t have said me?” 

“No, of course I would have said you, baby-love, it was a poor choice of words-” 

“ _ Ohohoho _ ,” Richie cackled, “this is  _ rich.  _ Your soulmate can’t dick you down as good as your ex? Wow.”

Bill huffed next to him, and Stan feared he would be faced with his pout for the next week at least. “Y’know what? I believe him. Because, Richie, you and I shared a b-bedroom wall. And when Stan stayed over you were both  _ very  _ quiet. I always had a sound night’s s-ss-sleep.”

Richie practically threw Eddie out of his lap to jump up and down like a toddler. “Bullshit!” He accused. “Stan!”

Stan simply mimed locking his mouth shut and throwing away the key - he could feel the low rumble of Bill’s laugh underneath his head. 

“I have a better question,” Eddie piped up, settling comfortably in Richie’s lap again. “Who’s bigger?” 

“Please,” Stan snorted, “have you not heard about their dick-measuring contests?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully for a second. “Oh, no, you wouldn’t have, considering Richie always lost.” 

Bill laughed loudly before being interrupted by a pillow in the face from Richie. “What?” He protested, throwing it back. “I can’t help biology!” 

“Wait,  _ always?  _ As in more than one?” Eddie asked, horrified but not surprised.

“Yep,” Stan said, popping the ‘p’. “Every year since they were like sixteen, I swear. I guess he just hoped it would hit a growth spurt.” 

Richie buried his face in Eddie’s neck as his boyfriend laughed along with the other two. “Is that why there’s those stupid dick-growth pills in your bedside drawer?” He wheezed, hitting his hand off of his thigh repeatedly while red in the face. 

“Babe, I have the smaller dick - please let me keep my dignity,” Richie practically wailed, to the joy of the group. 

Eddie smiled and pressed a kissed to his cheek. “Fine, it’s not  _ that  _ small anyways-” another cry of protest, “-but I’d still love you, even if it was.” 

Richie pointed at him exaggeratedly with a proud smile on his face. “See?  _ Soulmate _ .” 

Stan rolled his eyes, going to seek out Bill’s gaze to highlight his exasperation, but found that he was already looking at him. He nudged their hands against each other to link their pinkies, realising that he would always find comfort in the noise with this man beside him. 

**Author's Note:**

> post: http://knifeofdaudwall.tumblr.com/post/158685757311/fictional-kiss-prompts


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